


roanoake

by starlight_sugar



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_sugar/pseuds/starlight_sugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From <a href="http://itsmasterposts.tumblr.com/post/107750669071/1-use-the-lyrics-of-your-favorite-song-as-the">a prompt</a>: write a scene that comes after a tragedy. Don't mention the tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	roanoake

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fictional story involving fictional likenesses of real people. Rooster Teeth does not have my permission to use any portion of my work in their content.
> 
> Content warning: this fic contains mentions/descriptions of non-graphic violence, PTSD, and a panic attack.

The knock on the door comes about seven seconds after Caleb sits down.

He almost doesn’t get up, out of sheer irritation, but then there’s another knock, and, well. He’s good at a lot of things, but he’s never been able to turn away someone who needs his help.

“Just a second,” Caleb yells. He stands up slowly, hissing as the weight hits the balls of his feet. It was probably a bad idea to take an eight-hour shift on his day off. If whoever’s at the door expects him to put on shoes, they’re about to be sorely disappointed.

There’s a third knock as Caleb gets to the door, which is enough for him to realize who’s on the other side as he opens it. He doesn’t bother putting on a perky face; this mystery guest has seen Caleb in much worse shape than this.

Sure enough, Geoff doesn’t even blink as the door swings open. “Hey, frisbee.”

Caleb sighs. “Okay, who got shot this time?”

“Nobody.” Geoff frowns. “What, can’t I come and visit my favorite-”

“Geoff,” Caleb says, with all the patience and bedside manner that he has left. “Have you ever worked an eight-hour shift in a pediatrics ward before?”

Geoff must understand that Caleb is really, truly not in the mood for his shit, because he relents immediately. “Can I come in if I make my own drink?”

“I’m not going to be standing,” Caleb announces. His left thigh is already aching, the way it always does when he sees Geoff, and he debates grabbing his old cane before he realizes that Geoff will flip his fucking shit if he does. Geoff and Jack were always gung ho about Caleb’s physical therapy - some kind of misplaced penance, he’s always suspected - and Geoff will drag him back to his therapist if he’s having trouble walking.

He backs away from the door, trying to keep his limp in check, and Geoff waltzes in like he owns the place. He might actually own the place, which makes it even worse. Caleb’s not sure if Geoff is paying for the apartment or if he actually transferred it to Caleb’s bank account like he asked. Knowing Geoff, it’s probably the former.

Geoff makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet, giving Caleb time to not-quite-limp back to the couch and collapse onto it with a satisfying flop. He stares up at the ceiling. There’s no way that this leads to something good, and yet… “Why are you here?”

“You know,” Geoff says, in the same casual tone he uses on arms dealers to get tanks when he was promised handguns, “pediatrics is a pretty fuckin’ sweet thing to do.”

“It’s what I went to school for, you know that.”

“This is a rough city, it’s good for you to help out all those kids.”

“Geoff-”

“It’s too bad the hospital’s broke,” he continues, over the clink of glasses and the sound of what is undoubtedly Caleb’s best tequila being poured. “They could use a really big donation. And I’ve got a lot of money.”

Every alarm starts going off in Caleb’s head. This sounds like it’s turning into a bribe. “Geoff-”

“And I want you to know,” Geoff continues doggedly, “no matter what you say, they’re getting that money. You give me a list of equipment, and they get it.”

Caleb should tell Geoff to get the fuck out, just take the money as a favor, as another sign of Geoff’s gratitude and guilt. Instead he closes his eyes. “What are you asking me to do?”

“You can say no.”

“Oh my god, just tell me what it is.”

“We need an extra gunman to take down another crew’s base.”

Caleb doesn’t even bother moving. “You’re right, I can say no. And I am.”

“You’re not even asking for an explanation?”

“Nope.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

Okay. Caleb’s a little curious. “Don’t you have a thousand people who work for you now? Can’t you get one of them to do it?”

There’s the sound of weight settling near Caleb’s feet. He cracks an eye open to see Geoff on the arm of the couch, swirling the tequila around in his glass, not looking at him.

“Geoff,” he says. He still doesn’t look over. Caleb opens his other eye. “ _ Geoff. _ ”

“We’re going after Jamestown’s biggest warehouse,” Geoff says. “And I figured you’d want to be there when we took it off the map.”

Caleb wants to answer that, with a “never” or a “fuck off” or a “pediatrics doesn’t need equipment, just make a cash donation,” but he can’t. He tries to say something but he can’t find the air in his lungs to do it. His chest feels tight, ice-water cold, all he can think about is Jamestown, three years ago and trying to get inside a warehouse, Jamestown, realizing that things are going very, very wrong,  _ Jamestown _ and guns aren’t cold, really, not after you fire them, not when there are two bullets in your leg and the barrel against your head is searing-

“Caleb!”

One of Geoff’s hands is resting on something. He’s shaking it. He looks tired. He’s looked tired for a long time.

Caleb looks down. Geoff is gripping his knee. He blinks down at it and jerks his leg to one side, just to get the hand off. His thigh is throbbing again. Geoff is staring at him, somewhere between sorry and expectant.

“Get the fuck out,” Caleb manages. It’s uneven and raw and Geoff seems to understand, but he doesn’t move.

“This is the last thing they have.” He sips the tequila and holds out the glass. Caleb takes it and downs half of what’s left. Geoff doesn’t react. “They were a big crew. They were hard to get rid of, they had deep roots, but we’re almost rid of them. This isn’t just their biggest warehouse, it’s their last warehouse. We’re going to wipe them off the map.”

“Why?”

Geoff snorts and takes the glass back. “Why the fuck do you think?”

Caleb knows. He knows that the Fake AH Crew doesn’t take kindly to people fucking with their own, and for a while, Caleb was one of their own. He supposes he still is, in a way; he’s not full-time, not anymore, but he’s still their surgeon. The crew is as protective of Caleb as they are of anyone who helps their business, but this - taking down one of the biggest gangs in Los Santos because of something that happened three years ago? This isn’t protective. It’s vindictive.

“Because you’re guilty,” Caleb says.

It’s a little cruel, but it hits the mark; Geoff sighs, and his shoulders sag. “It was my-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, how many times do we have to go through this?”

“One more, apparently.”

“You wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t asked you to come.”

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” Caleb shakes his head. “But none of this changes anything, which is that I can’t help this time. Even if I wanted to.”

Geoff frowns. “Can’t?”

“You said their name and I almost had a panic attack.” The name is still there, on the edges of his consciousness. Caleb tips his head back, tries to count the cracks in the ceiling. “I can’t go.”

“It’s not the same warehouse-”

“Pediatrics doesn’t need any equipment,” Caleb says. Geoff sighs. Caleb ignores him. “Neo-natal does. Oncology always does. You should donate to them instead.”

“I understand.” Geoff gets to his feet. “Get some rest. You look like you’re fucking dead.”

Caleb keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Tell me when they’re gone?”

It’s pathetic, in a way. The crew being gone isn’t going to affect his life, not in any way that counts. But Geoff says “Yeah, of course,” and Caleb thinks that’s one step closer to things being okay.

“You should come over for non-business reasons more often,” he says. When he glances over, Geoff is at the door, one hand on the knob. He frowns. “Don’t steal my glass.”

“Of course not,” Geoff says, but he looks distinctly guilty as he sets the glass on the floor. “You too. Come to the penthouse once in a while.”

“Maybe,” Caleb says. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Geoff waves at him and leaves. Caleb stares at the ceiling for a long time after he’s gone, still counting the cracks. It’s mind-numbing, and he needs his mind to be numb. That, and he’s not sure he can stand without his thigh seizing up.

**Author's Note:**

> As always you can say hi on [Tumblr](http://pervincetosscobble.tumblr.com) or [Twitter.](http://twitter.com/ezrabridgers) Thanks for reading!


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